


The Ghost of Your Memory

by CaliHart



Series: Mandatory Fun Day [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Ghost Bucky Barnes, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Character Death, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliHart/pseuds/CaliHart
Summary: Clint tends to talk to headstones; or at least, one particular headstone. But he never knew he had an audience before.





	The Ghost of Your Memory

“Hey, it’s me again.” 

Clint brushed his hand over the top of the stone and settled in front of it with a sigh. He made sure his jacket was tucked underneath him. It was autumn, now, and damp, fallen leaves littered the graveyard, patches of red and yellow covering the green grass, showing where people had walked and left disturbed paths. 

“Are you doing okay? Seems kinda lonely. Looks like the cold is keeping people away.” 

There was mist lingering at the low end of the graveyard, and there wasn’t a person in sight. He sighed again. 

“Last night was rough,” he said with a wry smile. “Had another nightmare. I’m sure you know all about that.” His eyes lingered on the death year: 1945. World War Two. “Combat’s sure no picnic, I know.” 

Clint shifted and leaned over to brush some leaves off the neighbor’s stone. 

“Not a lot of people come out this way. Most of the guys out here are like you, you know. Missing in action. Presumed dead, bodies never recovered. Honorary, empty graves. It must be lonely. I hope I don’t end up like this.” He looked around for a moment. “You know I’ll keep visiting you though, right? You’re good to talk to.

“I saw Steve yesterday. He was on another talk show, and the host asked him about you and...he just looked so sad. I mean I know what it’s like to feel loss, you know, I’ve told you that, but that guy lost everything….. Why am I telling you this, you’re his best friend. You knew him better than anyone.” 

Clint shook his head and leaned forward, his fingers tracing over the letters and numbers carved into the headstone. 

_James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, 1917-1945_

“You know, I just...I wish life didn’t have to be this hard, you know? I can deal with it, I’ve got a good life, you know, I lost my family but I have my friends. I just think maybe Steve could use some friends.” 

Clint sat quietly for a moment, studying the familiar stone and tracing his fingers over the edges, studying where it had been smoothed and chipped over time. 

“Ah, well. I guess I should get going.” He pushed himself to his feet and rubbed the top of the stone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky.” 

~~

The asset watched the target from behind the trunk of a tree. 

The asset had been following the target for...a while. Time seemed to pass oddly when he wasn’t paying attention, but the leaves on the trees had been green when the asset first saw the man at the grave and started following him. The target seemed warm, and bright, and kind. He visited the same stone in the graveyard every time and sat with it for at least a few minutes, talking and touching it. He usually came a few times a week, sometimes every day, sometimes not for a few weeks. When the few weeks were up and he visited again, he was usually sporting visible injuries, bruises and bandages, sometimes a limp or a casted limb. The target always came, though, and always alone. He came whether the trees were green or red, whether the ground was bare or covered in white, and he always touched the stone and made sure it was clean and clear. 

There was a low spot where his hand had worn away at the stone. 

The asset didn’t know why the man had become the target, only that something drew him to the stone, and every time the target touched it, the asset almost thought he could feel the touch on himself. It had scared him at first, and he had hidden away, staying away until the man had gone. Gradually the asset became used to the man’s visits, and the man became the target, the focus, the Most Important Thing. The asset thought that maybe the spot rubbed on the stone would have the shape of the target’s hand, and sometimes thought there would be a matching spot inside him where the target’s hand would fit. 

The target’s visits grew to be something the asset looked forward to, and something he later knew to be disappointment ached within him on the days the target didn’t visit. When the target was injured, the asset hurt with him. But no matter the weather, no matter how badly the target was injured, no matter whether he wept, he always smiled at the stone. Those smiles made something inside the asset feel warm. So when he felt the warmth from the outside that he feared, he finally made the choice to approach the target. 

The asset stepped around the tree, his footsteps silent on the leaves the target had crunched over. The target looked up when the asset drew near, even though he made no noise, and the asset could see that his eyes were blue as they opened wide. The asset extended his hand, and he could see the leaves on the ground and the target’s feet through his hand and arm. 

“Holy crap,” the target muttered, glancing from the asset to the stone and back again. 

“Do you know me?” the asset asked. His voice sounded tired, and soft, and like wind through cliffs in the winter,and like distant screams. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know you,” the target said. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the asset mimicked the motion subconsciously. 

“Something is happening,” the asset said, his voice like the creaking branches of a tree. “I think I’m waking up, and I don’t like it. Will you help me?” 

The target’s face grew determined, and he reached out to touch the asset’s hand. The touch was warm, like a gentle fire, and the target cupped both of his hands around the asset’s, holding it with his rough fingers. 

“Of course I’ll help you, Bucky.” 


End file.
